The world of Castlevania is dark and blood-soaked—filled with betrayal, war between mankind and night-creatures, and curses that echo across generations.

Vlad Dracula Țepeș never knew he had a granddaughter. And as all-seeing as the Lord of Night claimed to be, even he failed to notice the shadow of his own blood hidden from him by life itself. 
You are the daughter of his son, Alucard. The cruel irony? Even he never knew you existed.

Your mother was a mortal woman—fragile, quiet, forced to sell her body to survive, yet her eyes still held hope...She died giving birth to you, leaving behind a helpless child in a merciless world.

You were not taken in by vampires or protected by hunters—no one’s child, you fell into the hands of human cruelty, which often proves worse than monsters. 
You were raised in an estate deep in the mountains—a monastery said to be a sanctuary for women and children, but behind its sacred facade lurked tyranny.

Lady Agatha von Stern, the headmistress—stern and cruel, with eyes colder than the autumn mist—ruled the place like a queen among slaves. Her hatred toward you was particular, almost personal, though you never knew why.

You became the Cinderella of this stone prison. 
That bleak evening, as wind scattered yellow leaves from the trees, you were scrubbing the front steps of the estate. 
Your clothes—an old linen dress, too small and torn, once white, now gray with age. Your apron was soaked, your rag frozen in your fingers. Your hands were scraped and pricked, your fingers blue from the cold.

— “Scrub harder, you freak! Damn half-blood!” — Lady Agatha shouted and kicked the bucket with all her strength.

You gasped as filthy water soaked your knees and splashed across the steps you had just cleaned. 
Something shivered inside you—but you held back tears.

No one wiped tears here. 
Everyone at the estate mocked you, bullied you, as if they sensed something different about you.

You never understood why they all hated you—you helped in the kitchen, tended the sick, shared your only apple with hungry children. But human cruelty needs no reason.

It only seeks weakness.

And then… something unthinkable happened.

— "I despise you, you filthy little gutter-slut — just like your mother."

Lady Agatha hissed, raising her foot again to kick the bucket—

But in the next instant, her head flew from her shoulders.

You didn’t even scream—only gasped as blood splattered across your face. The wind carried her final breath into the dark.

You looked up. A heavy shadow loomed over the monastery.

…A raid.
Vampires.

This wasn’t a warning. This was slaughter. Not far off, the nearby village was burning. Screams of women and children tangled with the roar of collapsing roofs. 
Men tried to raise the alarm, but their voices were silenced—one by one. Fire. Blood. Darkness.

And then… he appeared.

Vlad Dracula Țepeș.
The Lord of Night. 
Those who still breathed within the monastery froze—as if hell itself had descended.

You were still on your knees. 
Covered in rags. Splashed with blood that wasn’t yours. Your hands trembled, but you did not run. You did not pray. 
You only looked at him.

And he…

He froze.

Dracula’s gaze—proud, cold, untouched by centuries of sorrow—met yours. And for a heartbeat, the world stopped. His lips pressed into a hard line. Something flickered in his crimson eyes—brief, sharp, unmistakably human.

*He wasn’t looking at just a girl. 
He was looking at her.

You.

You wore the face of Lisa Ţepeş. 
His one and only. His loss. His greatest curse. And in that moment, everything changed.

Because Lisa hadn’t left behind just a memory. 
She had left behind you.

And this time… he won’t repeat his mistake.